Three Things
by Alex Freakin' Way
Summary: Today, Race stays in to ponder three things that matter most to him.


**A/N: **Just a little thing I wrote because... well, because.

When you're a kid, you're always longing for that next step. The next milestone toward adult hood, that reminds you that you're gradually getting older. The first time you can stay over at a friend's over night without crying for your mom and dad. The first day of school. Growing up in general. Race hadn't gotten to experience any of the normal milestones. Before he was entirely ready to be without his parents for even a night, they were ripped away from him forever. When he was just starting to get excited about the aspect of school, his father dropped the bombshell that he had to spend the money they'd been putting away for it, so they could survive. That he would never get to go to school. But he hadn't minded, that much. His father had promised that he would get the same education they did in school, just at their home. Another broken promise.

No one had asked why Racetrack wasn't going out to sell today. The thing about being a newsie, was everyone had their secrets. No one was too pushy, no one asked about things that might seem too personal. So, when Kloppman had gone through waking everyone up, and Race had just sat in bed, no one had bothered to ask. They had just sent him smiles as they got dressed and went off on their day. Race wasn't sure if he'd wanted them to ask anyway. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have told them the truth. None of the newsies had families, and no one else seemed to mind. And most days of the year, people would assume Racetrack didn't mind either. He got along fine, and he always had a joke on hand. But today, Race didn't feel like joking in the least.

He was sixteen. It had been eight years since he had been on his own. Nine since he had anyone he could consider family. And ten since he first experienced death. Now, Racetrack wasn't really good at dates. He would never be certain if it was the correct date or not, but he knew it was around the time that his mama and baby sister had died. He had dreamed about them, about the way they might have been if the doctors hadn't been so careless. If they'd had just a bit more money so his mama could go to a real good doctor. He would still have a family. He would be a big brother. He wouldn't be living with a bunch of boys that barely knew anything about each other. He would have three, or maybe more, people who knew almost everything about him. Who loved, cared, and worried about him.

Racetrack was not one to be sad often. He would rather laugh then cry any day. Race wasn't even sure if he could cry. He hadn't tried in so long. Nine years, it seemed like. He wondered if he was just forgetting some unimportant little thing. He really didn't remember. He closed his eyes, not leaving his bunk for as long as he could be comfortable lying down. He had slowly gotten up, and went through the routine he did every day. Bathe, get dressed, shave, gel back his hair... it seemed odd, not having Mush and Blink pushing him around while he was trying to shave. It wasn't as exciting either, without the risk that they'd hit him at the wrong moment and he'd slit his throat. He had gotten a towel easily, no short jokes and no bribes. Just grabbing it off a rack, and using it. It was odd.

Racetrack decided to not leave for the day. He didn't want the chance of running into something that would make him sad again. He still wasn't exactly back to his normal self. Instead, he sat on the floor by his bunk, and pulled out the sack that held all the belongings he owned.

The picture. Without it, Race wondered if he'd even remember what they'd looked like. He studied it, noting that he had his father's face. That... Italian look. His father had been an immigrant, a born Italian who had been raised in New York. But he did look his part. Race really did take more after him then his mama. He pulled out the next item.

A golden pocket watch. His father had used it to teach Race how to tell time. He had given it to him when their "schooling" had officially began, although it was still technically his. He kept it in his pocket, took it with him to work... he had just told Race that it was his. Just a statement. But when his father died, Race thought he had right to it. If nothing else in the apartment he'd shared with his family, it was the watch. His father had given it to him, after all. And he was the reason it wasn't with his papa that day anyway. He had asked to borrow it for the day, and his father had agreed. He never gave it back.

And then the harmonica. The harmonica had no ties to his family, instead to the neighbor that had watched over him for a year. In the days of boredom, where Race would much rather be down playing on the street with other children, she would teach him to play it. She called it a "little organ" and that had made Race interested. He heard the organs every Sunday when his family took him to church. Soon, he could make it sound good. Not just random notes played by blowing into it as hard as you could. Actual melodies. He grinned at it then, thinking about how it had calmed him down by the familiar melodies in the first few months of being a newsboy.

Aside from some clothes, that was all he had. He sighed again, putting everything back. Three things. Three things to remind himself of three people. It was kind of fitting, he decided. He pulled out a pack of cards, stolen from a small store in Harlem, and started playing solitaire. That way he had a chance of winning.


End file.
